


To Remain at Your Side (Hawkquisition: Part I)

by rannadylin



Series: Hawkquisition [1]
Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anderfels, F/M, Grey Wardens, Orlais, Red Lyrium, Skyhold, Weisshaupt Fortress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-28 20:10:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3868210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rannadylin/pseuds/rannadylin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Adamant, Hawke returns with Fenris to Skyhold. Corypheus may be defeated but there is still work for the Inquisition to do, and Thedas still needs a Champion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wherein Hawke repents of an ill-considered departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke arrives at Skyhold without her Fenris? Surely he didn't willingly let her go off alone. So she must have left without telling him. He's not going to be pleased when he finds out! This is what happens next, as Hawke travels to Weisshaupt, reuniting along the way with her lover, family, friends, and the Inquisition itself...

****  
Hawkquisition Part I: To Remain at Your Side

**Chapter 1**

_Wherein Hawke repents of an ill-considered departure_

“Still a day or so till we hit the Imperial highway at Montfort, my lady,” the Warden recruit said all too cheerfully as Lisbet Hawke scraped yet more of the mud of the Nahashin Marshes from her boot.

“Splendid,” she sighed, glancing up at the scar in the sky where the Breach had been. She’d been trudging through desert and marsh with the exiled remnants of Orlais’s Gray Wardens for weeks, leaving it to the Inquisitor to deal with Corypheus. It felt like an exile of her own, running away to Weisshaupt when she should be dealing with her mistake. Hawke had been haunted by Varric’s words ever since she opened his letter asking her to come to Skyhold: _Seems Corypheus wasn’t as dead as we thought._ He couldn’t have been any more dead, she was sure, when they left his corpse in that Warden prison; but the Inquisitor’s account of the fall of Haven had convinced her that they had walked away from the Vimmarks too soon. And Thedas was suffering for it now. But the Inquisitor - Lord Trevelyan - seemed to know what he was doing. Somewhere to the south and east, Skyhold still held against the Elder One. For that, at least, she was grateful.

She glanced back at the cheerful Warden - Jacques, wasn’t it? An Orlesian, only recently added to the Warden ranks, he hailed from Serault, a marquisate located somewhere near these marshes and known, so Jacques had told her (frequently) for its glassworks. (He’d been apprenticed in the glassworks, it turned out, until some vaguely described accident there had gotten him sent away in shame and straight into the arms of a group of Warden recruiters.) His familiarity with the region made him navigator for their group, though Hawke was beginning to doubt that decision. “And once we reach the highway,” she asked, “how many months more till we reach Weisshaupt?”

“Oh, we’ll travel much faster on the road. You’ll see. And there’ll be inns - I know an innkeep along the way between Montfort and Ghislain, he’ll -”

“Let’s hurry up and get to that road then, shall we?” Hawke said before Jacques could break into another of his rambling stories and promises. The boy wasn’t that bad a storyteller, in truth, but it made her miss hearing Varric tell one properly. And then she’d miss - other things. Other friends. The Wardens, what remained of them, leaderless and (save for the garrulous Jacques) treating her with the sort of reverence that she supposed made sense after they’d seen her step out of the Fade in the flesh with the Inquisitor, made for poor companions. Jacques seemed undaunted by default, but the other Wardens bore the weight of what had happened at Adamant Fortress less easily. They accepted Hawke as a de facto leader to escort them back to the Warden base in the Anderfels, but they did not go out of their way to speak to her or include her even in the mundane tasks of camp each night. She had seldom felt so alone.

* * *

The Nahashin Marshes were finally behind them and Hawke smiled to travel on firm ground again, with trees shading their passage. Even Jacques seemed less annoying here; but nevertheless, Hawke wasn’t paying enough attention to the recruit’s latest monologue to know what she had missed when it was suddenly interrupted by a loud and relentless barking.

One of the elder Wardens had hailed from Ferelden before he joined the Order. “Andraste’s purple knickers, is that a mabari?” he said in almost hopeful tones.

And of course it was, and the barks that had preceded him, like scouts, soon were followed by the dog himself, leaping upon Hawke in a flurry of limbs.

“My lady - !” shouted Jacques and, she thought, a few other Wardens, turning to rescue her from the beast. Hawke laughed, even though the dog’s bulk had immediately thrown her to the ground - where she now managed to sit up, somehow, wrestling him back. “Tiberius! There’s a good puppy - what _in Thedas_ are you doing out here in - in the middle of nowhere? Where are we, anyway, Jacques?”

“Er...still in Orlais, my lady...excuse me, are you saying you _know_ this creature?”

“Of course I do. Came with me from Ferelden when we fled the Blight, didn’t you, Tibby?” She scratched the ecstatic dog behind his ears while the Wardens looked on, bemused.

“But why’s he here?” Jacques persisted.

“Well, he didn’t come with me to Adamant, that’s for sure. I left him with…” And the realization dawned. “He’s here?” she asked the dog, who only cocked his head at her as if to ask, _Who’s here? I’m here!_ , then rolled over to have his belly rubbed. “I suppose he must be,” Hawke sighed. “Come on, Tiberius. Lead the way.”

* * *

The sun was setting when they reached the camp. He was sitting not far from his small campfire, his back against a tree, reading from a book propped on one knee. Still as handsome as the day she’d met him - more so than when she’d seen him last, fretting against the necessity of rest while his wound healed. Hawke hesitated at the edge of the camp and would have gladly paused a long moment more just to cherish the sight of him, alive and well, but of course the sounds of heavily armed Wardens marching along behind her and Tiberius panting at her heels prevented that. He looked up, meeting her eyes with an inscrutable stare.

“Fenris,” Hawke greeted him, managing a half-smile as he set the book aside and got to his feet. “You’re - looking well. The wound’s healed?” To her relief, he didn’t seem to be favoring it. Then, finally, he returned the smile, and that was all she needed to see; a heartbeat later she was in his arms.

“Hawke,” he said. “Now you’re babysitting Gray Wardens?”

“You know how it is. Odd jobs,” she sighed, loosening her grip on him, shifting her hands to where she knew his markings were less sensitive.

“I thought there’d be more of them. Varric’s letter said you were leading every Warden in Orlais to Weisshaupt.”

“This _is_ every Warden in Orlais, now.”

He glanced past her, taking in the sight of them, a handful of bedraggled warriors and not a single mage. “Ah.”

“Didn’t Varric tell you this was just an escort job? I’m not staying at Weisshaupt. You didn’t have to come looking for me, not while you’re healing -”

“I’m fine, Hawke. And I’m already here. You can’t go off without me again - not this time, not when I’m well enough to follow.”

“So I see.” Remembering why she had gone off without him, she took a step away, looked back at the Wardens. “We may as well camp here. See to the tents, will you?” Without a word they set to work, and Hawke took Fenris’ hand to lead him a few steps away from the others, into the cover of the trees.

She could feel the tension in his hand, beneath the veneer of calm with which he’d greeted her in front of her companions. She let him begin the argument. “I should have been with you, Hawke. I know how Varric exaggerates, but when I got his letter -” He exhaled slowly, glanced away. “I was almost afraid to open it. I was so sure it’d be - that you’d have -”

She leaned her head on his shoulder, cautious as always of his markings, sensitive to touch, even to hers. “I’m still here, love.”

“But what if you hadn’t come back? I don’t even know what happened. Varric was uncharacteristically brief on the details. And when that dwarf fails to embroider a story to his usual standards, I can only assume it was a truly horrendous experience.”

She thought of the Fade, of the Nightmare demon, taunting her: _Did you think anything you ever did mattered? Fenris is going to die, just like everyone you ever cared about_ , and she shuddered. “I’ll tell you all about it later. Promise.”

He pulled away without a reply, looking back toward the camp. “Fenris?” she asked. No answer. “You understand why I went alone, don’t you?” No answer. “You were hurt so badly in that last fight, when the slavers ambushed us. Maker knows you fight like...like a thunderstorm, like a whirlwind, dashing through a place and leaving destruction in its wake, at the best of times, but you’re always cautious too. You know when to move out of the way. And then...you didn’t.”

“The arrow was meant for you,” he finally said, his voice so hushed she could barely make out the words. “I couldn’t let -”

“You almost died for me. Don’t do that, my wolf. I couldn’t bear to lose you, too.”

He turned to face her again, and she was shaken by the anger in his eyes. “But you could bear to leave me behind? Without even a word of good-bye?”

Hawke winced. “I...left a note?”

“Lucky thing you taught me to read, then! Hawke, picture it: I awoke to find you gone, nothing to explain it but a letter from Varric with your note on the back. Not even a proper letter worthy of its own page!” And from his belt he drew the letter itself, waving it before her as an accusation. “And while I’m reading that, just beginning to realize you’ve gone off to save the world and I might never see you again, _Merrill_ comes in to check on my wound! You left the _blood mage_ in charge of my welfare, Hawke!”

“I don’t think she uses blood magic for healing!” Hawke protested. “She’s really quite good with more traditional methods. You _are_ looking much better now, after all.”

Fenris scoffed, “You probably at least told _her_ good-bye in person. Could you not have waited till morning to leave?” He reached for her hands, the anger in his eyes giving way to hurt. “One last kiss? One last chance to look upon your face, my little bird, before you flew away? You could have died, and the last word I had from you would have been three lines on the back of Varric’s letter.”

“I…” Words failing, Hawke clasped his hands to her cheeks, wetting them with her tears. “I’m so sorry. That was cowardly of me. I wanted to tell you in the morning, but I feared you’d want to come with me. And it’s not so much that you were still healing...I know you heal fast, you’d have managed on the road. But ever since that fight, I’ve feared it happening again. You try so hard to protect me. What good is that if I can’t protect you, too? I knew I had to go help as Varric asked. I just wanted to know you were safe in the meantime. I spent half the night writing those three lines, because I kept putting it down and starting to come back to bed, to wait until morning; but then I’d see you in those bandages and I just couldn’t bear it.”

His anger spent, Fenris held her in his arms and let her cry. When the tears finally passed, he murmured: “You really think I fight like a...whirlwind?”

“Possibly a hurricane,” she said with a laugh that was still half-sob. “Something quite stormy, anyway. I can’t really keep track of you in a fight, you know. It’s like you’re everywhere at once.”

“Hm,” he said, in the voice of one trying to hold back laughter. “Come on. Let’s see if those Wardens have finished setting up camp. And dinner. My wife, my heart, has, against all odds, returned to me alive. That is cause for celebration.”

“Warden rations for a celebration? Your wound may have healed, but perhaps you got hit on the head harder than I realized in that fight…”

“There is nothing wrong with my head. Skip dinner, then. There are other ways to celebrate.” And he drew her in for a kiss of a very celebratory sort.

* * *

That night in her tent, Hawke told him all that had happened. Skyhold, Crestwood, Adamant...the Fade. The Nightmare. Stroud, staying behind to guard their escape, leaving the Wardens leaderless and Hawke feeling responsible for them since she had been the one to get him involved with the Inquisition in the first place. Somehow, lying there in the dark, it was easier to speak of it. Or perhaps it was his hand in hers that made it possible to speak of it at all.

“Mattered?” he said when she repeated what the Nightmare demon had said to her. “Of course what you do matters. Whether it mattered to Kirkwall is irrelevant. It matters to me.”

“It knew our fears all too well,” Hawke sighed. “It also said you were going to die, Fenris.”

“Which you feared so much you left me behind, I know. Where I could have just as easily died from this wound if Merrill _had_ tried to heal it with blood magic. Or from pining away with worry about _you_. Or from countless other causes. It’s a pointless fear, Hawke.”

“Oh, thank you for being so understanding…” Hawke rolled her eyes.

A smiling kiss brushed her forehead. “It’s just that I know you’re brave, Hawke. Stop pretending you aren’t.”

She frowned. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“You fear losing me. I fear losing you too, of course. But no one lives forever - except maybe Corypheus, after we were so sure we’d killed him, but I don’t even want to think about what sort of magic is keeping him alive. So we should make the most of our days together, little bird. No more leaving each other behind for their own safety.”

“I can hardly leave you behind anyway, when you’re not bedridden, can I? How did you even find us out here?”

“Varric said you were going to Weisshaupt. From Adamant Fortress. I consulted a map, and I brought your dog. He’s a good tracker.”

“Clever.”

“Desperate, Hawke.”

“I missed you,” Hawke admitted. “I’d...forgotten what it’s like to fight without you. Someone who knows me as well as you do, anticipates my tactics…”

“Occasionally anticipates the arrow flying at you and jumps in front of it?” There was no scorn in Fenris’ voice now, only amusement.

“I still wish you wouldn’t do _that_ ,” Hawke clarified. “I’m perfectly capable of a barrier spell. But it was like I had to relearn how to fight on my own. Not really on my own; but the Inquisitor’s people, none of them fight quite like you and I.”

He held her tighter. “I know what you meant. I missed you as well. I tried to continue our investigations into the red lyrium while you were gone and it just wasn’t the same, fighting alone. I actually missed seeing your magic flying beside me, perish the thought. We’re better together, Lisbet Hawke.”

“That _is_ why I married you,” Hawke murmured; even in the darkness of the tent he could hear the smile in her voice.

“And here I thought you were just avoiding the seneschal’s son trying to court you…”

No reply. He heard her breathing, slow and even; she was asleep. But Fenris lay awake for some time yet, holding her and remembering:

_She had been viscountess barely a month. They had each kept their promise to not die, in the battle at the Gallows, but the hard-won victory and her sudden elevation had left him uncertain. Fenris still made his home in the mansion he had once believed to be Danarius’, seeking out Hawke when he could, though she seemed perpetually surrounded by advisors and citizens demanding that she singlehandedly restore Kirkwall to its former glory._

_He had managed to catch her at home one night when he called upon her, and the way her eyes widened and a smile brightened her face when she saw him standing there gave him hope, so he stayed. They sat for hours in front of her fire, enjoying each other’s company and one of the finer wines from the viscount’s cellars first in silence, then in the scattered scraps of conversation that suffice between companions who have weathered so many storms together. Until finally Hawke turned her eyes upon him and said:_

_“Someone’s been trying to court me, I think. Flowers - not lilies, thank the Maker - keep getting sent anonymously to my office.”_

_“What?” That woke him from the drowsy contentment they both seemed to have slipped into. “Why?”_

_Her bemused smile tactfully pointed out his gaffe. “I - I mean,” he stammered, “Of course people want to court you. I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re a remarkable woman, Hawke, and...and…”_

_“And the viscountess. And no doubt this mysterious suitor is unaware that I already have a lover, since lately you are so seldom seen with me…”_

_“You...seemed busy. I thought I should keep out of the way.”_

_“The last time you tried to ‘keep out of my way,’ that ribbon of mine was the only thing that made me think perhaps you still cared.” She touched that ribbon, the favor he still wore in a band of red around his wrist, with a light caress. “So apparently you do now, too.”_

_“Of course I do. I always will, Hawke. Never doubt that.”_

_She looked away, staring into the fire for a long moment, and then finally burst out, “Fenris. Let’s get married.”_

_“I - what?!”_

_Still not looking at him, Hawke continued, “Seneschal Bran has a son, did you know? My mother used to talk about arranging a match between him and me. Now that I’m viscountess, I suspect his father would like to arrange it too. It might explain the flowers.”_

_“Are you...saying you’re thinking of marrying the seneschal’s son?” Fenris frowned, trying to follow her thoughts. “Or you want me to marry you...so he’ll stop pursuing you?”_

_“No!” she gasped, and laughed in surprise, smiling over at him. “I want to marry you because you are you, my wolf.”_

_Fenris gazed down at their clasped hands and her favor on his wrist. “I am yours, little bird. But do you really want to be married to an elf? A former slave? People will talk. This city needs confidence in its viscountess if it is to recover. I don’t want to jeopardize that.”_

_Hawke stood suddenly with a huff of disgust. “This city will keep throwing suitors at its viscountess before it even thinks of recovering. I could be petulant, ugly, unpleasant - I could be as mad as Meredith - they’d still crave a match with power. I want none of it. But they’ll keep asking as long as I’m viscountess and I’m eligible. And I’ll have to keep turning them down. Because I’m not eligible, really. There’s no one I would marry but you.”_

_Her eyes brimmed with tears as he rose and gathered her in his arms, then gathered his thoughts. After a brief silence he said firmly: “I never dared hope to marry. Slaves seldom do, and when I was running, it would have been folly to chain a wife to such peril as I constantly found myself in. So I must apologize; it had never even occurred to me that we might -” He leaned back, looking at her as she brushed at her eyes. “And what human would deign to marry an elf, anyway?”_

_“Marrying you,” Hawke insisted, “is not_ deigning _. I...I wasn’t sure I should bring it up. We’ve been happy as we are, and I thought maybe, marriage vows, pledging yourself to someone, it would be too much like servitude again for you -”_

_His eyes widened. “Never say it. I am with you by my choice. It is no slavery. In fact, it is -” He shook his head. “Allow me to do this properly,” Fenris said as he knelt before her, taking her hand. “Lisbet Hawke. Meeting you changed my life. Never had I dreamed there lived a woman so brave and beautiful - and a mage, yet so wise and good that I could not help but love her and trust her. I thought I had broken my chains when I fled my master, but you alone have made me truly believe I am free.” His dark gaze fixed intently on her, taking in her drying tears, her dawning smile. “You know I am yours,” he said, “and my place is at your side. If ‘husband’ is the title that will reserve that place for me, then will you grant it to me, my little bird, and do me the honor of becoming my wife?”_

_He could never remember exactly when she had said yes (amidst the kisses that inevitably followed) but she must have, for three weeks later they had said their vows to each other, in the presence of what remained of their friends and family, with Sebastian reciting the Chant’s blessings upon their union, at Hawke’s estate, since the Chantry had yet to be rebuilt. They had been inseparable since...until the day he woke to find her gone to Skyhold._

With that separation over at last, Fenris joined her in sleep, at peace once more.


	2. Wherein Weisshaupt’s limitations are felt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Wardens settled at Weisshaupt, Hawke has her own reasons for wanting to return to Skyhold...

****  
Hawkquisition Part I: To Remain at Your Side

**Chapter 2**

_Wherein Weisshaupt’s limitations are felt_

 

Hawke stood atop one of the towers flanking Weisshaupt’s great gate, looking out over the blasted lands of the Anderfels.The Warden fortress commanded a view far over the endless steppes, but the dust storm that had blown in that morning obscured much of it. Even without the constant swirl of red dust, though, Weisshaupt seemed a world apart from southern Thedas.

The Chamberlain of the Grey had been glad to welcome Orlais’ exiled Wardens home and to hear their news. Hawke gathered that he had been puzzled for some time by the lack of correspondence from Clarel and other southern Wardens, and that rumors of Warden outposts suddenly abandoned had reached Weisshaupt. Even the First Warden had held a brief audience with the survivors to hear their report, but it was the Chamberlain who had shown the most interest, questioning Hawke and Fenris for hours about their encounter years before with Corypheus and Hawke’s experiences at Adamant Fortress and in the Fade.

Neither the Orlesian Wardens who had accompanied Hawke nor those in residence at Weisshaupt showed signs of Corypheus’ influence, but Hawke remained uneasy, though perhaps that was only due to Fenris hovering protectively at her side so often, practically radiating a distrust of the Wardens to rival his usual distrust of mages. But as the weeks passed without the inhabitants of Weisshaupt showing any sign of becoming abominations or bursting forth in blood magic, the two of them felt more and more out of place. They had stayed only to make sure Weisshaupt would not become another Adamant; now the stillness of the place weighed on them, and Hawke itched to be back in the thick of things.

And there was one other matter. She brushed the fine red dust from her face with a smile and climbed down from the tower to seek out her husband.

* * *

Sunlight glinted from sharp edges as longsword met greatsword, echoed by the faint glow from Fenris’ lyrium markings and the sparkle of arcane energy passing over Caronel’s blade. The two elven warriors spun and leapt about the training ring, too intent on their bout to hear Hawke quietly approaching.

Fenris had the greater reach, but Caronel had thrown up his shield of shimmering magic to take the brunt of the blows. The younger elf, one of the Grey Wardens stationed at Weisshaupt, was the first Arcane Warrior Hawke had ever met, and with professional curiosity she observed how seamlessly his fighting style wove together both magical and physical skills. Fenris kept him on the move, however, in a dance of blades that was dizzying to watch. Then suddenly they were still, as if frozen in place--but by no spell: as the dust of the ring cleared, Hawke saw that Fenris had slipped through the arcane shield to grip the Warden’s sword arm in one unyielding fist. Caronel’s eyes widened in surprise, then with an easy laugh he said, “I yield!”

“Inevitably,” Fenris answered with a satisfied half-smile as he released his opponent’s arm.

Caronel sheathed his sword and rubbed at the spot where Fenris had gripped him. “You...phased, didn’t you? I’ve seen you pass through solid objects, but I didn’t realize those markings could phase you through my barrier too.”

“It seemed worth a try. You shouldn’t rely so much on magical defenses.”

“It works against most opponents,” Caronel shrugged, brushing back the golden curls that had fallen over his eyes in the fight. “You’re something else entirely.”

“A whirlwind...so I’ve been told,” Fenris muttered, and at that Hawke couldn’t help but laugh, drawing their attention.

“Hawke!” Caronel greeted her pleasantly. “Come to see this husband of yours put me to shame yet again?”

“I thought you held your own quite well this time, Caronel,” she replied. “He does have you at a disadavantage, you know.”

“Oh?” said the Warden, and Fenris quirked an eyebrow as well.

“You’re a mage,” Hawke pointed out. “He would not dare lose to one, and therefore you cannot win.”

“Of course!” Caronel smiled without offense. “Nevertheless, serah Fenris, I thank you for training with me, mage that I am. And now I’ll be off to my duties, assuming that it’s you, not me, your lady wife has come to speak with…” At Hawke’s nod, the Warden departed with a wave of farewell.

“Well,” said Hawke thoughtfully, watching the younger elf go.

“Well what?” Fenris asked.

“No warnings against blood magic, demons? No outrage about his shield spell? You like him.”

Fenris frowned at the suggestion. “Caronel is a decent swordsman, even if he does rely on that shield too much.”

“That’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard you say about a mage. Who wasn’t me, at least.” She leaned over to kiss his cheek. “It seems you’ve made a friend. I’m proud of you, my wolf.”

He tangled his fingers in her hair and returned the kiss. “Clearly all your fault. Most mages are still more trouble than they’re worth, in my experience. But that one...he knows his limits. He trains hard with the sword so he won’t be driven to use magic beyond his control in a desperate fight. He could have flung spells at me; I’ve seen him conjure ice to rival yours. I used to think there was no fell magic a mage wouldn’t reach for when cornered.”

“To be fair, Kirkwall always proved you right on that.”

“As did Tevinter.” They were walking arm in arm, and Hawke drew him toward the ramparts. “I wonder,” he mused, “if even Tevinter has its Hawkes and Caronels?”

“Odds are,” she said as they climbed up to the wall, “it would have been laid waste by abominations by now if it didn’t.”

“Hm.”

They stood looking out over the empty lands outside Weisshaupt’s gate, silent for some time. Then Hawke sighed. Leaving would be harder now, seeing Fenris making such an unlikely friend, seeing him almost...content. But somewhere out there...

He looked at her with a frown, and apparenly the sigh had said more than she knew, for he spoke: “It’s time, isn’t it? We’re leaving.”

“We’ve done what we came to do.” She cast a hesitant glance at him and then moved to lean against the embrasure, staring off to the south where the dust storm still obscured all. “The Wardens here will be fine. The south needs us.”

He wrapped his arms around her from behind, nestling his cheek against her shoulder. “I know. If your Inquisitor hasn’t already single-handedly dealt with Corypheus, that is.”

“He isn’t my…” she trailed off and leaned back into his embrace. “There’s...one other thing, Fenris. One reason we need to travel right away.”

“Hm?”

She took hold of his hands around her waist, shifting them to rest over her belly. “Wait a few months and I might not be able to travel.” He went so suddenly still--holding his breath?--she wondered if he had already grasped her meaning. Just in case, she added with a chuckle, “Nor do I fancy giving birth in a Warden fortress. This is no place for a--”

“Hawke!” he gasped. “You mean--? Are you certain--?”

“Not at all certain,” the words came out in a rush as she turned to face him, still within the circle of his arms. “I haven’t seen a healer to confirm it, but I--I’ve missed my monthly courses, twice now. But then, that might not really mean anything...I wonder, after I walked physically in the Fade, could that have...disrupted things? And I can’t feel anything yet, if I am carrying a child, but maybe it’s too soon…” She rested her hands on her belly uncertainly; his hands came down to cover hers with a feather-light touch and a look on his face that she could not read. “I wish,” she said, “my mother was still alive. Someone to talk to...I doubt anyone in Weisshaupt has experience carrying a child. Fenris! Say something. Do you...Is this…?”

He gave her a questioning glance as all her words gradually caught up to him. “Hawke,” he finally rasped. “It’s...more than I ever dreamed. Wife and child? Just when I dared to accept my good fortune at having you by my side, now we’re to have a child as well? “ A cautious smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “It is a blessing beyond measure, little bird.”

Relieved, she let him draw her in for a long kiss. “And I agree,” he said when they finally drew breath again, “this is not the place to await a birth. Shall we return to Kirkwall? The templars must have enough keeping them busy not to bother with us, if we don’t make a stir.”

She huffed. “As if we could go anywhere and not make a stir. Actually, I was thinking of Skyhold.”

His eyebrows arched in surprise. “You want to join the Inquisition?”

“In a way...I already did. But without knowing what’s happened in Orlais since I left it...Skyhold, at least, is secure. I expect it would be the last place to fall to Corypheus if the Inquisitor hasn’t stopped him yet. I’d like to help fight at any other time, but now…” she smiled. “I might be out of the fight for now. And I can’t think of anyplace safer than Skyhold for a newborn, if this war drags on.”

He nodded. “Then the Inquisition shall have us.” And smiled, a rare full smile that made his olive eyes shine as he gazed on her. “All three of us.”

 

 


	3. Wherein Skyhold becomes Skyhome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skyhold welcomes Hawke and Fenris back. In truth, nothing much happens in this chapter. Let's just let them get settled for now!

**  
Hawkquisition Part I: To Remain at Your Side  
** **Chapter 3**

_Wherein Skyhold becomes Skyhome_

Guard duty on the gate tower, overlooking the approach to Skyhold, wasn’t the  _worst_ assignment, Scout Kanden assured himself. Still, it was one of the chillier spots in the mountain fortress, and the road up the mountain was so bare and so long that he hardly needed to glance at it once in an hour to confirm that it was still free of invaders. Of course there were the occasional merchants making the snowy trek for the hope of doing business with the Inquisitor (or more likely with his lovely fiancée, who had charge of the organization’s coffers), and nobles from Orlais and beyond who insisted on doing their scheming in person, and sometimes new recruits coming to join the Inquisition’s cause as soldiers or workers. But such traffic was less regular now that Lord Trevelyan had put an end to Corypheus. There was still plenty of work for the Inquisition to tend to - rifts yet unclosed, demons unbanished, Venatori and Red Templars apparently uninformed that their master had fallen; and always, everywhere, order to be restored - but the sense of urgency had waned. And so had the potential for excitement that might have once come with guard duty on the tower, back before Kanden joined up, before the world became almost  _safe_ again. He almost wished he’d been here before, when there was still a creepy undead magister to take up arms against, and Scout Harding might have brought him along when the Inquisition needed to explore a new area, and the Inquisitor might have eventually realized Kanden’s skill with a bow and asked him to come along on his forward parties and --

His daily repetition of this litany of boredom was suddenly interrupted as it came to Kanden’s attention that the long white road was  _not_ , as he had thought, all that bare. Travelers? All sudden alertness, he peered carefully down the mountainside for a long moment to verify that there were two of them, cloaked and hooded. And a dog! He didn’t often see travelers with a dog. No sign of pack animals, so they were most likely not merchants; nobles didn’t often journey with so few companions or a dog, unless perhaps they were Fereldans.

Whatever they were, his duty was clear. Kanden raised the flag that would signal “Visitors ahoy!” to the Commander’s tower, at the other end of the long stone bridge that led from the gate tower into the keep itself. And then he settled down to wait and watch the travelers slowly make their way closer and closer.

\---

Commander Cullen had plenty of time, once the scouts patrolling the wall brought him the news of the signal flag, to march over to the gate and see the travelers for himself. “Maker’s breath,” he swore once they had drawn near enough for him to recognize the Champion’s distinctive armor when the wind lifted her cloak away from it, “if that’s who I think it is, I’d better fetch the Inquisitor. No - never mind Trevelyan; I’d better fetch Varric.”

\---

Thus, when Hawke and Fenris reached the gate at last, a small welcoming party had gathered. Lord Thayer Trevelyan grinned, bright-eyed, as he gripped her arms like a brother. “Hawke! Andraste above, it’s so good to see you again. And here I thought you’d had your fill of us and would go back to your own pursuits once the Wardens were dealt with.”

“My pursuits align nicely with yours at the moment, Inquisitor,” Hawke answered. “Though, from the news we’ve heard on the road, you’ve actually done it? Corypheus is gone?”

Thayer looked about to burst with the story but assured her he would tell it in full over drinks at the Herald’s Rest once they were settled in. Then his bright eyes fell on Fenris. In a moment, the Inquisitor took in the elf’s pale hair and strange tattoos and remarked, “And clearly you must be Fenris. Welcome to Skyhold!”

Fenris looked at Hawke as if to say,  _What have you been telling these people?_  And she shrugged and said, “You’re famous, dear. Varric wrote a book, you know.”

Fenris groaned and muttered something about  _sweeping_ to the dwarf, who was looking very pleased with himself where he stood among those gathered to greet them.

Before anyone else could pester them with questions or overwhelm them with welcomes, Josephine Montilyet stepped forward to say, “Lady Champion. We are honored to welcome you to Skyhold - properly, this time, and I hope for a longer stay than when you were here before? If you’ll follow me, I’ve had rooms prepared for you and your companion -”

“Just one room, if you please, Lady Montilyet,” Hawke said gently as they fell into step behind her. “Fenris is my husband.”

Josephine’s eyes widened with surprise and delight. “Oh! That is - I had no idea! Felicitations to you both, of course. We had not heard you were married!”

“Varric left  _some_ details out of the book, then? That’s a relief,” Hawke said, and Fenris chuckled.

“Then it was not a recent event? You’ve been married since before he wrote the Tale of the Champion? You must tell me all about it!” Josephine gushed. “Was it a large wedding?”

“Very small. Just our friends.”

“The Chantry being in no state for a large gathering that year,” Fenris put in.

“Still,” the ambassador said with a blush and a glance over her shoulder at the Inquisitor, “I’d love to hear about it. I find myself in the position of - Well. I’ve organized many events, but never a wedding, and now I have my own to plan.”

Hawke had followed her glance; she laughed at Lord Trevelyan’s impish grin and said, “Which must no doubt live up to the Inquisition’s growing status. Congratulations to you both.”

Josephine took them up a stair leading to the guest quarters that overlooked Skyhold’s garden. As they passed the first door, a voice from behind, quiet yet impossible not to hear, startled them all: “You. And not-you. Which one is you?”

They turned to see a lanky young man, his face hidden beneath a spreading hat, perched on the half-wall of the walkway where it overlooked the garden. “It’s Cole, isn’t it?” Hawke greeted him. “We met before. Do you remember?”

“Yes,” Cole said. “The one who will not wait to worry. You would not let them take you. Not the Templars, not the demons. You made yourself firmer, faced the fears, surround yourself with silence where spirits cannot whisper. But now there are two where there was one. Soul within soul. Hawke, and something new? Is it a spirit? You don’t feel like an abomination.”

Hawke sputtered in surprise. Fenris looked horrified at the word “abomination”. Varric looked bemused - so, Hawke noted, did the Inquisitor and the rest of them, clearly accustomed to Cole’s cryptic words.

Then the meaning shone through, and Hawke burst out laughing. “Oh, Maker,” she said when she caught her breath. “Something new? I think that’s just the baby, Cole.”

Now Cole was the one to look confused, but Josephine caught on: “You are expecting? How marvelous!”

Hawke nodded, resting a hand on her belly. “I wasn’t sure of it, when we set out for Skyhold, but I’ve started to show. Going to have to let out this armor soon.”

“Or stay out of fights for now,” Fenris said to no-one in particular, earning a look from Hawke that suggested they had had this conversation before, would have it again, and she would be having the last word on it.

“I do believe,” Josephine mused, “this will be the first baby born at Skyhold. Oh, you do intend to stay here till it’s born, don’t you?”

Hawke smiled and leaned back against the half-wall. “That was why we came here, as much as anything. That is, we do want to lend our aid to the Inquisition as well. Though my...ability to aid may soon be limited,” she admitted in deference to Fenris.

“Cole,” the Inquisitor said with a gleam in his eye, “by the way: have you never encountered a pregnant woman before? Or have you always taken them for abominations?”

“Pregnant?” Cole echoed with a look of such wide-eyed innocence that Hawke hid a smile as Josephine led her and Fenris on to their room, leaving Thayer to explain the facts of life to Cole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Cole is fun and sort of excruciating. It requires an interesting balance of (A) alliteration, (B) parallelism, and (C) inscrutability. Listening to Cole talk in the game is like hearing poetry (and the voice actor pulls it off so well!); trying to actually write it is...well, poetry isn't something I dabble in often! Hope it came across well here. Also, I don't recall any actual interactions of Cole with pregnant women, so this is how I imagine he would see them at first. :-)


	4. Wherein friends want to help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric and Cole, each in their own way, try to help Fenris and Hawke settle in to Skyhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ends Part I of Hawkquisition! The adventures continue in Part II, "The Apostate's Templar", now posted in my Works...

**  
Hawkquisition Part I: To Remain at Your Side  
** **Chapter 4**

_Wherein friends want to help_

“Come on, Broody,” Varric pestered, “leave the girls to the nursery talk. I want to introduce you to people.”

Fenris scowled. “Is that necessary?” He watched as Hawke and Josephine sorted through swatches of fabrics he could not name (and one particularly garish stripey pattern he would prefer not to), to be sewn into, he presumed, baby clothes and blankets and such. It seemed an exorbitant amount of fabric for one so small person. Just how many tunics would an infant need?

“You had to notice everyone staring at you at dinner,” the dwarf persisted.

“Generally, I try not to.”

“You’re practically as much a celebrity as Hawke, you see.”

“Which I presume I have you to blame for.”

Varric preened. “I do my best! And it was a damn good book if I do say so myself. One of my best sellers, too. The point is, elf, I know you don’t like being the center of attention, but that’s where you’ll stay as long as you have that broody mystique thing going on. It’ll draw the ladies like flies, and you don’t want Hawke having to murder every woman in Skyhold while she’s pregnant, do you?”

“And introductions are going to, what, make them ignore me?”

“Exactly! Once their curiosity’s satisfied a little, people will back off. Find someone new to obsess over. Especially the Orlesian visitors. Orlesians love trading off obsessions.”

Fenris rolled his eyes at the dwarf. “Speaking of obsessions, you’re not going to give this up, are you? Fine. Lead on.”

* * *

Knowing where the curious gather, they began, of course, in the Herald’s Rest tavern, where Fenris had the grace (and his usual luck) to lose spectacularly at Wicked Grace. The Iron Bull and a few of his Chargers had joined them for the game, doing their best to distract Fenris from his cards by peppering him with questions. Accustomed to this strategy from Varric, however, the elf responded to every query so tersely that their curiosity only grew. Finally, when Fenris let slip half a mention of the high dragon Hawke had once defeated at Kirkwall’s Bone Pit, Iron Bull abandoned any pretense of subtletly and, keen as a reader of Varric’s serials begging the author to reveal what happens next, pried detail after detail from him, while Krem dealt the next hand.

“Varric was there, too,” Fenris pointed out when he tired of recounting the dragon’s color, how big it was, how much fire it breathed, how many dragonlings had swarmed to its aid during the fight, and so on. “Make him tell the rest. You’ll get a better story that way.”

“Only because he exaggerates,” Bull rejoined. “It’s about time we got a real warrior’s perspective on that fight. You were right up in its teeth!”

“No, that was Anders,” Fenris said, deadpan. “The dragon tried to take a bite out of him at one point. Caught him by the coat and swung him around for a bit, till she apparently decided she didn’t really like the taste of mage.”

Bull roared with laughter. “See, that’s what I’m talking about!”

“Who’s exaggerating now?” Varric grumbled.

“I’m not exaggerating. The dragon did, in fact, snatch him up in its teeth. I suspect when she finally dropped him, he was as injured as he was dizzy. It was fortunate Hawke has some skill at healing. If we’d been relying on Anders alone as a healer, the fight might have been suddenly much shorter.”

“Course, then the Chantry might still be standing,” Varric huffed. “Also, did I just hear you refer to healing spells as ‘fortunate’? What happened to ‘All mages are dangerous, everything magic touches is blighted!’?”

Fenris looked bemused at the tone of voice Varric had slipped into when imitating the elf’s mantras. “There are mages. And then there is Hawke.”

“Eh. Right. Okay, I can’t argue with you there.”

“Anyway, Bull,” Fenris said, “I am not really the one you should ask about the battles we have seen. Hawke is the strategist. Even when my markings aren’t active, I fight in a sort of blur. Move from one target to the next as quickly as possible. I don’t recall fights in detail, most of the time.”

“And when your markings are active?” Krem asked. “If you don’t mind me asking, that is. What’s that even mean? What do they do?”

“I…” Fenris glanced down at the tattoos on his hands, tapping a finger idly against the backs of his cards. “It is difficult to explain. Perhaps a mage would know how they work, but I only know what they can do. Allow me to demonstrate.” And with only the slightest flourish, he waved the hand that was not holding his cards over the deck, then with a burst of blue, that hand phased right through the stack of cards, emerging with one from the very bottom and leaving all the rest undisturbed.

“Ha!” Varric snorted. “Nice party trick, that.”

“Yes, well, imagine the potential combat applications,” Fenris said to the wide-eyed Chargers. “I can as easily snatch a man’s heart from his chest as that card from the deck. I don’t know exactly how it works. Hawke once tried to learn more about it, for...practical reasons,” he coughed, “and it had something to do with the Fade. The lyrium is linked to the Fade somehow and when the markings are active, I exist partly here and partly there, so to speak. Thus physical objects present no barrier.”

“Well, gild my horns and call me a dragon,” Bull said, his eyes glinting. “That is one of the  _coolest_  things I have ever--”

“Not to one who wears them.” Fenris’ voice was low and warning, and Bull abruptly left off his dreams of battlefield ghost-elves. An awkward silence stretched on for too long, till Fenris suddenly turned over the card he had drawn.

“Ah,” he said calmly. “The Angel of Death. How fortuitous.” And he spread his other cards out beside it: the Angels of Fortitude, Truth, and Charity. Dusk Knight and Eclipse Knight. A winning hand, most likely.

“Hey!” Bull leaned in to glare at the cards. “That doesn’t count! You...you...Fade-drew that card!”

“Easy, Tiny,” Varric laughed. “Rules state the game’s over when the Angel of Death is drawn and discarded. Doesn’t say anything about a deck of cards that presents no physical barrier…”

“You got anything better than three Angels, Chief?” Krem prodded as he turned his own cards over. “I don’t, that’s for sure.”

Bull growled menacingly at his second-in-command, then turned his most winning (and eerily predatory) smile on Fenris. “This ain’t over, elf. See you back here tomorrow night?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Fenris said.

* * *

“You hope it is without magic. Why?”

The words, spoken so earnestly behind them, made Hawke and Josephine both jump and drop the plaideweave they had been measuring out for a layette.

“Oh. It’s you, Cole,” Josephine said, one hand fluttering to her chest. “You gave me such a start!”

But it was Hawke whose mind Cole had apparently been reading and on whom his troubled gaze now fixed. “He is pure. Innocent. What he will be waits for you to shape him, to show him.”

“Wait...’he’?” Hawke’s eyes widened. “You’re talking about my baby, aren’t you, Cole? It’s a boy? You can...see that?”

“Yes?” Cole looked confused, surprised. “Can’t you?”

“Perhaps not the plaideweave, then…” Josephine murmured.

“Can you see, then,” Hawke asked, resting a hand on her belly, “if he does have magic?”

“No,” Cole shook his head. “Would it be so bad if he did? Father’s strength, mother’s magic: a fine child.”

“Believe me, I’m sure he will be that,” Hawke smiled. “I just can’t help but worry a little. Magic is not entirely a blessing.”

“Is anything?” Cole cocked his head to consider.

Hawke sighed and sat on Josephine’s couch. “Magic is different, somehow. Of course, the way things are going now, my child...he...might never have to worry about templars or keeping his powers hidden, the way my sister and I had to. But to live like this, constantly on his guard against demons…” She shook her head. “Sometimes I wish I’d been born without it myself. Or that my parents hadn’t kept us hidden, that Bethany and I could have trained in a Circle, protected against our own weaknesses.”

“I don’t understand,” Cole said. “You are not weak.”

“Only because I’m so careful. About everything. How much magic I use. What I use it for. Even how much I have to drink, lest I lose my inhibitions about things like blood magic. What if the baby...what if he can’t learn to control it? I’ve lived my whole life fearing I could become an abomination. If my son has magic, that fear gets doubled. And Fenris...magic has wronged him so many times. What will he think, if I give him a mage for a son?”

Cole brightened, finally seeing a way to help. “He loves him already, and he has thought of this too. You have taught him already how to love a mage. He is prepared to do so again.”

Hawke’s eyes narrowed as she studied the spirit’s face, shadowed under his hat. “Somehow I doubt it will be that simple.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helpful Wicked Grace rules: http://lotusflwr.tumblr.com/post/5695401519/wickedgrace - accurate or not, it helped to have some idea of what the characters should be doing in the game...


End file.
